We’re on our way to Abu Dhabi. 3 hours into our drive and so far there has been minimal screaming and yelling – the kids have been pretty quiet too. We’ve got plenty of water and snacks and the only thing I know I forgot is my Motrin. The tension in my neck and jaw is a warning that I will probably be needing it . . . woo hoo, side trip to an Emerati pharmacy in the near future.

 

One reason for the silence: chocolate granola bars.

We’re at the border crossing and it’s time for the dance of the passports. Crossing from Oman into UAE is a little convoluted because the road crosses back and forth between the countries a few times before you actually enter UAE for good. So there are several different checkpoints to pass through, some requiring passports, others requiring a stamped slip of paper that proves you showed your passport to someone else when you exited the previous country, one where they might want money even though we aren’t supposed to pay anything with our diplomatic passports, and if you miss any of those checkpoints (they aren’t all marked — for at least one of them you have to get out of your car and go inside a building) you have to drive back to where you screwed it up and get the proper thing signed/stamped or whatever. And yes, that happened to us last time.

It takes about an hour to completely cross the borders. You can tell when you’re in Oman because there are trash cans parked along the side of the road out in the middle of the desert, but on UAE land there aren’t any trash cans. Oman is big on keeping their country clean – in Muscat you see dudes walking around mopping and sweeping everywhere. UAE doesn’t place quite the same value on cleanliness, I guess.

See? Middle of nowhere . . . nothing for miles. Trash can.

Not related to our trip, this morning before we left, Lucy asked if my sister who works with the girls in India is named Demi Moore. A few weeks ago I showed Lucy a picture of Wendy from the wedding and told her that my sister spends a lot of time in India working with rescued girls. Last night Lucy saw something on the news about Demi Moore working with girls in India and thought the dark-haired beauty doing such honorable work must be my sister. Luckily having Wendy as my sister instead of Demi Moore means that Ashton Kutcher isn’t my brother-in-law. Whew!

Carter creating a dark place so he can see the PSP screen

Three hours down, three more to go. Now I’ve got to go referee a gum fight (no not gun, for a change) while we sit and wait for Josh to clear one of the checkpoints. Hopefully he’ll be back soon with our passports and we’ll be on our way to the next part of the border crossing. Where’s my Motrin?

UPDATE: We just got a call from Lucy who is frantic because water is gushing from the water tank on the roof. It’s shooting into the air and running down the side of the house and flooding the street. Good thing Josh has the phone number for the guy who has been working on the broken water heater the last few days so he can go over there and fix it. 

UPDATE: Got another phone call. Our household goods arrived in Oman yesterday and the transportation office at the embassy expected the paperwork and customs to be completed next week. The shipper just called to say he could deliver them *tomorrow*. Too bad we’ll be out of town and can’t take delivery until Saturday. Boo. We should have planned this trip months ago, then out stuff might have arrived even sooner.

She ate an entire nectarine — peel and all. I had to wrestle the pit away from her before she tried to eat that too.